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Day 3 and we are well and truly into the JOGLE. So much so that the breakfast option is not necessarily the Full English, sorry Scottish, any more, well at least for the more health concious, athletic, and skint among us. Out of Inverness on to the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Ness for a fantastic ride along the south side with no ups or downs worth mentioning UNTIL the UPS! A 14 % hill to the Falls of Foyer took their toll and we stopped for refreshment, the Broom Wagon duly rolling in with refreshments and Tonger's Times. Off again another savage hill saw 2 incidents, first Tonger became dismounted rather unexpectedly and joined Micky on 1 fall apiece before, rather more seriously Mr Scrabster snapped 2 spokes, how we tittered, and was rendered imobile. A quick regrouping saw Mr Scrabster riding the spare bike which Micky had stolen from a 7 year old and The Broom Wagon, now being driven by White Van Al, on his release from Inverness Constabulary custody heading for the nearest bike repair shop.
What goes up must come down and we did, down a 12% hill before we had to climb 1300 ft just to have our photo taken with the maddest Scottish Piper in the world who not only agreed to have his photo taken with us while we mimed playing the bike pumps and shoving the hose up his skirt, sorry kilt! "Oh Flower of Scotland, I've never seen..." etc. On down the scariest descent of the trip, including another 12% drop, chasing Mr Scrabster on his midget-cycle.
Across the Caledonian Canal and Lunch at Loch Oich, facilities a little limited but "Stinky" Miller managed not to tread in anything second hand and we were odd again. Fort William was the next stop and inspired by Lorraine's ample chest, have I mentioned that before, Tonger was sent ahead to find a pub. Beer was taken as Howie raced up the high street in effort to replace his Eden project Pack-a-Mac with something remotely cyclist -like and waterproof - have you seen the forecast for tomorrow??? Big plus point was the First Real Ale since Friday!! White van Al and Mini Al had now come into their prime delivering the Head's refurbished tricycle before disappearing into the sunset to deliver our bags; big habsd for Al and Mini Al!
Suitably refreshed we tackled the last 10 kiles to our overnight stop led by Col (Retd) Mustard and his GPS; we sailed straight past it. Returning up the hill Micky went ahead in the tumbling stakes with a 9.8 effort but like Tonger it was mainly pride that was hurt. At last the sanctuary of Inchtree Centre and Tonger and Duts threw themselves to the floor, not with exhaustion but with joy at the sight of a sign saying "Real Ale"; small things.
Midgees are ferocious, view is fantastic, food and craic very good, and the bad boys a little confused because, as I write, the chaps on the Headmaster's table are p***ed as rats and up past 10pm. "Ther may be trouble ahead..."
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